


we'll have the scars to prove it

by forcynics



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Major character death - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-29
Updated: 2011-09-29
Packaged: 2018-05-24 00:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6135847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forcynics/pseuds/forcynics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're fleeing King's Landing, but they're being chased, Sandor's been injured, and Sansa knows they won't make it. He knows too, when he offers out his dagger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we'll have the scars to prove it

They will be caught.

Sansa knows this with a painful, dreadful certainty, one that throbs in her chest, _aches_ with every stride the horse takes. The ground whirs by beneath them, and if she closes her eyes, she could almost fool herself into thinking she was flying. 

But then the Hound groans, and she knows the truth is _they will be caught_. He's slumped over in the saddle, and she wraps her arms more tightly around him, as if she can hold him in place, as if her sheer determination and fingers curled tight can see them to safety. 

She'd held on tentatively at first, fingers pressed into his sides, nervous everywhere she touched him-- but now there is blood, so much blood, where days ago she'd rested her fingers, and now she is holding onto both their lives.

 

 

It is the horse that stumbles in the end, ridden to exhaustion, unable to bear them and their urgency any further. The horse stumbles, and she is not flying, she is falling, her breath and fear knocked out of her as she hits the ground. She is not afraid, because she knew it all along, _they will be caught_. 

The Queen will find her and take her back; Joff will lock her up, or maybe he'll have her head like he had her father's. She is certain of this, and so she lets go of her useless fears, numbness soaking through her as she crawls to where Sandor is crumpled on the ground, one hand clutching his bloody side. 

They were lucky to get this far.

The Hound is fumbling for something, and when the sun flashes silver, she sees the dagger. He offers it out to her, and when she wraps her fingers around the handle, she thinks _dangerous_ , but what she reads on his face is _please_. 

"I won't let 'em take my head in front of a fucking crowd," he rasps, and she thinks of her father, thinks of the way Joff smiled, and her knuckles whiten in their grip. 

Sansa swallows, deep and dry, and inches closer. Pain is etched into his face, more visible on the good side; all she sees is _please._

"Mercy," he begs. "One last song, little bird, the song of steel and mercy, give me that much", and Sansa, unfalteringly obedient, gracious and merciful as a lady should be, nods and whispers "Mercy", finds the way to his throat and gives it to him.

It is easier than she'd always thought it would be, to press a blade to a man's neck and simply _push_ , cut deep into the skin and not stop. It seems to catch, and then give, and there is sudden heat, wetness that stains her hands scarlet. She claims her kiss as the life leaves him, her lips press his mouth as her dagger presses his neck, and she doesn't realize she is crying until she sees her tears puddling on his cheek, marking wet paths in the ruined skin. 

This is hot and wet, there is blood everywhere, and she doesn't know if she did it right; this was never something her Septa taught her, but _mercy_ was, and the dying deserved mercy the most, or so someone had once told her.

 

 

She picks up his helm, tries to find that numbness again, _she will be caught_ , puts it on her own head, pulls it down as if it will protect her, and she feels safe behind those jaws, or pretends she does, even if she only feels small. 

She curls up on the ground, makes herself even smaller, small as possible, so maybe they will forget Sansa Stark and she can just lie here. 

But she knows the truth, and _she is caught_. She hears their horses before she sees them, armor glinting in the sun, and she remembers when she thought that knights were brave and good and noble, before they became men who hunted her down. 

They find her, catch her, but she growls at them when they grab her, shakes her head even though it bangs inside the helm and all she can hear is ringing. She is surrounded, trapped, _caught_ , but she shrieks and kicks when they try to take the helm off her, and she sobs.

"Mercy, I gave him mercy, _mercy_ , mercy, please." She doesn't know who she is begging to.

They pull her away from the corpse on the ground still sobbing shrieking kicking until eventually she just crumples into quietness, crumples in on herself and remembers numbness. She holds onto it all the way back, doesn't move, doesn't talk. 

When she closes her eyes, she is not flying, she is presses a dagger into a man's neck, there is blood everywhere, he is whispering "Mercy, little bird", and her wings are soaked red.

 

 

Sansa is returned to her room in Maegor's Keep, the very same room, and she almost laughs of panic when she realizes. It is a pretty, lovely sort of the prison, but the worst, threatening to choke her with iron fingers. 

She stands by the window so she can breathe, remembers the sky lit up green and a dagger at her throat, or was it his mouth on hers– 

_Sing for me, little bird_ , she thinks, and after a hysterical laugh, she does. 

The guards mumble something outside her door, she hears them, but she puts them out of her mind, _I am caught,_ and she sings the city to sleep as the world around her darkens.

She closes her eyes, and she could fly out the window, just a _pretty little bird_ , but her wings weigh heavy, blood-soaked at her sides, so she finds her voice instead, and _Sansa Stark sings_.


End file.
